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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 










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Over the Threshold to 
Manhood 

By MARY MORRISON 

^ |V 






Published by 

David C. Cook Publishing Co. 
E1.GIN, Illinois. 



Copyright, 1911 , 

By David C. Cook Publishing Co., 
Elgin, Illinois. 


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©CI,A3C3175 

lu.) 


Over the Threshold to Man- 
hood. 

By MARY MORRISON. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ A boy’s will is the wind's will, 

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.” 

44 TT LOOKS a terrible lot like a frost to-night,” 
I Grandpa Baker said dubiously, as he came in from 
the barn with a pail of milk, 

“It does look like it, that’s a fact; but I don’t believe 
it will freeze enough to hurt. Why, it is only the 30th of 
September,” grandma replied brightly, turning over the 
shining tin pans and setting the strainer inside ready for 
grandpa to pour out the milk, a task which was too heavy 
for her arms, especially when the pail was full to over- 
flowing, as was the case to-night. She watched it foam- 
ing out into the pans with a satisfied smile. Old Cherry 
gave such rich milk, and now that she was fresh, she 
could take two new butter customers as well as not, she 
decided. 

“ My, how sweet that is ! A body can fairly smell the 
clover blossoms in it; and the cream — why, it does seem 
as though it was most an inch thick. I’ll be able to lay 
down a crock of butter for Elder Gordon’s wife, and on^ 

5 


6 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO HA'S HOOD. 


for Mrs. Graham, too. They ought to fetch enough extra 
for the boys’ winter clothes, hadn’t they?” 

“ Yes, I should think likely. Clover pasture is the best 
thing for butter. It’s just begun blossoming again now, 
and it looks for all the world like a big posy garden. For 
something really pretty give me a big clover field every 
time, and it’s that sweet-smelling it almost takes your 
breath away. I got a good catch on that field, too; there 
ain’t any bare spots in it. It ought to last quite a spell, 
too — if the frost holds off.” 

” Oh, I guess it will, John,” grandma said, optimis- 
tically. 

” I believe I’ll send the boys over to Mrs. Graham’s 
after a crock to-night. She always wants her winter but- 
ter put in her twenty-pound stone jar. I’ve filled it for 
her before, and I know how sort of particular she is. 
Where are the boys? I ain’t seen them since supper,” she 
asked. 

“ Oh, Phil has gone over to Bates’ after another book 
he’s got track of, the ‘ Wild West,’ or the ‘ Western 
Wilds,’ or something, and Rob is down to the Branch 
tinkering up a dam. He’s crazy to make a fish pond and 
raise trout for market; thinks he can make a fortune out 
of it,” Grandpa Baker chuckled. 

“ Oh, well, ’twon’t hurt him none to think so, as I 
know of. There is a heap of fun in planning — more than 
there is in doing, sometimes, I think.” 

” Yes, ’cause it’s always smooth sailing when a body 
makes plans. They never plan for running up against 
a snag like they are pretty apt to do when it comes to 
working of ’em out. I’ve noticed — that is, not generally. 
The boys ain’t a bit alike, and it shows itself plainer every 
day. It don’t seem to me that they are very much like 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


their folks, either. Ellen wasn’t never no hand to read 
like Phil, and George never cared about tinkering. He 
couldn’t build a chicken coop that would hold an old hen 
more than half an hour,” grandpa remarked. 

“ No, the children don’t take after ourn much, as I can 
see, but maybe they get it from the other side. Ellen’s 
man was a pretty good scholar, and George’s wife was a 
master hand to contrive and plan, and that is probably 
where Rob gets his liking for building things. His mother 
was always planning something, and she’d make a dollar 
go the furthest of any woman I ever see. Maybe if 
George and Ellen had left money, the boys wouldn’t have 
been contented to stay with grandpa and grandma. Who 
knows?” 

“ Well, I don’t know; money is a pretty good thing to 
have, especially enough to pay the debts a body leaves. I 
guess we will be glad enough to get all we can about 
next April, when the mortgage comes due,” grandpa re- 
marked. 

A cloud flitted across Grandma Baker’s face like a 
shadow at the mention of the mortgage; but it was gone 
in a moment. 

She had always managed to look on the bright side of 
things as long as she could — even the terrible railroad 
accident, which had cost the lives of her son and his wife 
and of her daughter and her daughter’s husband, and had 
given into her charge their two boys, who had grown 
to be the sunshine of their lives. Of course it was incon- 
venient to always have to consider ways and means, but 
they had got along so far, and probably would now. 
Grandma’s favorite song was, “ The Lord will provide,” 
and she sang it frequently. She was humming a verse 
of it when grandpa went back to the barn. 


8 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA'HHOOD. 


“ Send Robbie in, when he comes back from the 
Branch,” she called after him. 

Grandpa laughed. “ I guess I’d better call him if you 
are in a hurry, because he probably won’t come up as long 
as it is light enough to see to pile up stones and sod,” he 
said, going down to the pasture bars. “ Hello, Rob ! 
Your grandmother wants you,” he called. 

“ All right,” Rob responded cheerily, dropping a big 
bowlder into place, and turning away reluctantly. He 
could have made a big start on it to-night, but of course 
if grandma wanted him — Rob never objected to helping 
grandma, and ran away to the village willingly. When 
he came back with the crock, Phil was sitting by the 
window poring over a large book entitled ” The Wild 
West,” by the waning light. He looked up eagerly. 

“Oh, Rob, you ought to read this; it’s a dandy. All 
about the West — broncho busters and cow punchers and 
miners and Indian fighting. I’m going to take solid com- 
fort reading this,” Phil said enthusiastically. 

Rob came and looked over his shoulder a few minutes, 
then he ran away to help grandma carry in her geraniums. 
Indians and cowboys and miners did not appeal to him — 
just yet. Maybe when he was as old as Phil he would 
care for them. Just now he felt more interested in help- 
ing cover the cucumber vines and the tomato plants 
against a possible frost, and then if it was not quite dark, 
he meant to run down to the Branch and see if the water 
had washed out any of his dam. 

Phil’s seventeen years seemed to be a long ways ahead 
of his fourteen. Indeed, Phil had grown to feel himself 
very much older than his cousin during the last few 
months. A thirst for adventure from the books he had 
been reading lately was beginning to make him restless 



9 




10 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA:NH00D. 


and discontented. He had changed much in the last year. 
Rob felt it, but he could not understand why Phil should 
dream by himself so much, poring over some old book — 
especially that sort of book. Rob had no taste for books 
of adventure. Home was the best place in the world, and 
this old farm of grandpa’s, with the Branch gurgling 
musically through the meadow, and the maple wood be- 
yond, made an ideal playground, and offered unlimited 
possibilities for working out a great many interesting 
plans. This idea of a fish pond now — it was simply great, 
if only he could make it work. He had been to the state 
fish hatchery several times, and he knew how the sluice 
boxes were built, one above another. Of course, he 
couldn’t expect to make anything elaborate, but he knew 
enough about it to make the thing a success, he thought. 
There were a great many possibilities in a fish pond — if 
only he could get the fish pond. Last year it had been a 
gentian bed, and he had managed to interest Phil in it, 
also, and they had wheeled up load after load of rich 
forest loam and made a bed and erected a shelter of forest 
boughs to keep the sun off, and then set about collecting 
gentian roots to set the bed with ; but there did not seem 
to be as much gentian in the wood as Rob had calculated 
on, and after hunting all one Saturday, and only being 
able to find a small quantity, he had been compelled to 
abandon the project, for gentian roots were very high, 
and it was out of the question for him to purchase any. 
He set what he had, however, and they had grown and 
thrived. Of course there was not enough to amount to 
anything, but if he took care of them he could raise 
enough to start a bed in the future — “ by the time he was 
as old as grandpa,” Phil had said derisively. But Rob 
did not despair. He had made a beginning, anyhow, and’ 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


11 


that was something. Nothing was ever done without a 
beginning. 

When Rob came up from the Branch it was nearly 
dark. Phil was straining his eyes over “ The Wild West,” 
and grandpa was standing down by the fence looking over 
into the field of late potatoes. They were green yet, and 
stood up in long, thrifty rows. Rob had not forgotten 
how long they were, for he had dropped potatoes for 
Phil and grandpa both to cover — up and down, back and 
forth, with the heavy pail on his arm, which had to be 
refilled as soon as it began to grow light. It was a big 
field, and grandpa had calculated there would be enough 
to pay off the mortgage if it was a good year for potatoes, 
provided they were a good price. Grandpa was always 
planning to pay off the mortgage. Last year it had been 
corn, but corn was not a good crop, so grandpa had con- 
cluded to try potatoes this year. So far it had certainly 
been a good year for potatoes. 

The “ mortgage ” had hung over the heads of the whole 
family ever since Rob and Phil could remember, grim and 
gaunt, forbidding everything in the way of extra pleas- 
ures and luxuries, which boys are apt to regard as real 
necessities. Phil’s long-coveted shotgun and Rob’s canoe 
were held fast in its clutches, together with grandpa’s 
young orchard of Ben Davis apples, that he was anxious 
to set out to take the place of the old orchard. 

Grandma Baker, too, had her particular desires on 
which the mortgage had set the seal of disapproval — a 
purple wistaria and some crimson rambler roses, which 
the fruit-tree agent had displayed, and which would make 
the south porch a thing of beauty. Grandma dearly loved 
flowers. 

And so Rob had grown to regard the “ mortgage ” in 


l2 OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAt^HOOD. 

the light of a tyrant and a usurper of rights and privileges, 
and the prospect of having it “ paid off ” had rested his 
aching back whenever he leaned on his hoe for a breathing 
spell during the long July days when he and Phil had 
taken a row of potatoes, turn and turn about, with 
grandpa. 

It was a fine field, and it was no wonder grandpa liked 
to look at it. Probably he would tell how many bushels 
it would give to the acre when he came in. When the 
rows first began to show across the field, they stood up 
so thrifty and green that he had put the yield up to 
seventy-five bushels per acre; but in August, when the 
potato bugs began to be pretty thick, and, work as hard 
as they could to keep them thinned out, bare stalks, 
stripped of every leaf, showed here and there, he had come 
down to fifty ; but lately, since the fall rains had come on, 
they had grown so rank, he had increased his estimate 
of their probable yield to one hundred bushels to the acre, 
provided the frost held off until they got ripe. 

To-night, however, he had nothing to say as he came 
in, and taking the weekly paper down from the clock 
shelf, he sat down beside the lamp to read. There was a 
tired look on his face as he drew his chair closer to the 
fire grandma had kindled in the sitting-room stove. 


chapter' II. 


RANDPA BAKER was up early the next morning. 



He did not wait to build a fire, but opened the door 


and went out. Everything was still. Not even a 
robin twittered him a good-morning, although the first 
faint yellow of dawn already stretched across the eastern 
sky. The silence was ominous, and he put out his hand 
and touched the blades of grass at his feet, but each one 
was like a tiny spear — sharp with frost, and when he bent 
one it snapped crisply. 

“ Frost, sure enough,” he muttered, peering into the 
shadows that shrouded the potato field. Then he went 
shiveringly back into the house and lit the fire, which was 
soon roaring up the chimney. 

When grandma got up she went to the window at once 
and looked out. She did not say anything, however, as 
she came out into the kitchen, but went about getting 
breakfast at once. 

The boys came clattering down stairs a moment later. 

“Whew! This is pretty cold, isn’t it? Why, the 
ground is white with frost, grandpa I” Rob said with con- 
cern, going to the window. 

“ Looks like winter, all right. Might as well have 
saved our work on those potatoes, eh, grandpa?” Phil 
said, coming to the fire. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. They are pretty well along. May- 
be it ain’t hurt ’em much,” he replied, with an attempt at 
encouragement. 


14 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA^NHOOD. 


“ Don’t fool yourself. They are as dead as a door- 
nail,” Phil declared oracularly. 

“ It’s a good thing we covered up the tomatoes and the 
cucumbers and brought in the geraniums, isn’t it, grand- 
ma ?” Rob said brightly, touching a pink cluster of grand- 
ma’s Lady Washington. 

. Yes,. ’tis so, Robbie. They look real cheerful, don’t 
they? Posies are a great comfort,” she added thought- 
fully. 

” Farming is a great business, if you don’t care what 
you say. Dig and tug and sweat to plant a, crop and tend 
it, and then have it burn up with the drought or freeze, 
and take your pay in cornstalks and potato tops!” Phil 
remarked pessimistically. 

“ Oh, I don’t know, Philip. A body gets some con- 
siderable part of their pay in good, pure country air and 
sunshine, as they go along. ’Tain’t never a complete 
failure, neither. We’ve always got our livin’ off the farm 
so far,” grandpa said, with a brave attempt at cheerful- 
ness. 

“ It’s all according to what you call a living, grandpa. 
I should call it just staying around and hanging on. It 
seems to me there are other places to farm where it don’t 
freeze quite so early, anyhow, if a body has got to do such 
work,” Phil persisted with a moody expression of counte- 
nance. 

“ Yes, I suppose there is better places than Roscommon 
County, ^ut the old farm looks pretty good to me yet, 
Philip. I’ve worked on it nigh onto forty years, and I’ve 
kept it up, too; it ain’t no old, run-down concern.” 

Phil did not make any further remarks, but he walked 
to the window and looked out at the frost-blackened field 
significantly. 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 15 

“ Come to breakfast,” grandma called cheerily, setting 
the piles of smoking hot cakes beside a square comb of 
white clover honey. And they all responded readily, for- 
getting to resume the thread of argument in the sub- 
stantial blessings of the present. 

The sun was just coming up over the tree-tops when 
the boys went out to begin the morning chores. After 
grandpa had taken the milk pails and gone to the barn, 
grandma put a shawl over her head and went down to 
the potato field. Every stalk was stiff with frost, and the 
leaves were already beginning to hang limp and wilted 
in the early morning sun. 

She stood silently regarding it, when a step sounded 
behind her. It was grandpa. ; 

“Pretty discouraging, ain’t it?” he said. 

“ Well, I suppose it is according to the way we look at 
it. We never know whether just the thing we have 
planned is the best thing that could happen to us or not. 
Maybe the Lord has other plans;” she said. 

“ Well, if you look at it that way^ Martha, though what 
better thing could happen to us than to roll out a big crop 
of potatoes and sell for a good price and pay off that old 
debt that has been hanging over our heads so long, I don’t 
know. I’m sure. Now that old Joslyn has got the mort- 
gage, we won’t get any leniency. Frost won’t cut any 
figure in his eyes. I know him like a book,” grandpa 
said dubiously. 

“ Well, we won’t cross the bridge till we get to it, any- 
way.” 

They went back to the house together, and grandpa 
pointed to the field of late clover, that only yesterday was 
full of wind-swept shadows of pink blossoms and green 
leaves. 


16 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA'NHOOD. 


“ Black as my hat, Martha. You might as well send 
Robbie back with that crock. It won’t do to turn old 
Cherry into a field of frost-bitten clover,” he said grimly. 

Grandma did not reply. She had seen the clover field, 
but she did not mean to let it disturb her equanimity. 

“ You’ll have to put the cows in the woods pasture this 
morning, boys,” grandpa said, as he turned them out into 
the barnyard. 

“ There ain’t much to eat besides brush,” Phil said con- 
temptuously. 

“ I don’t suppose there is very good picking, but they’ll 
have to get along on it till it’s time to begin foddering. 
The hay won’t last till spring if we begin feeding as early 
as this,” grandpa explained. 

“That’s it; scrimp and pinch. That is what it means 
to live on a farm. The cattle and horses have to take 
their share, I suppose. When I am a man you won’t see 
me settle down on any forty acres of land. I mean to see 
the world,” Phil declared, as he and Rob drove the cows 
down the road to the wood lot. 

“ That’s a long way ahead. I believe in having a good 
time while we are boys, and not be worrying about what 
we are going to do when we get to be men,” Rob replied, 
stopping to watch a pair of fox squirrels up in a beech 
tree. Phil’s discontented grumbling did not commend 
itself to him. 

There were a thousand things right here in this old 
wood to interest him, and the world outside of grandpa’s 
farm did not attract him. 

“ That’s all right for you, maybe. You will always be 
something of a kid. But it won’t do for me. Say, I’d 
tell you something if I thought you could keep it to your- 
self.” 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 17 

4 “ What is it?” . . ' • 

“You haven’t promised yet.” ^ 

“ Well, all right, then. I promise.” 

“ Joe Bates is going West in the spring, and he says 
I can go with him. He will pay my fare if I will go in 
the car and take care of his horse. He is going to take his 
gray colt, Teddy, along.” 

“ But you won’t go, Phil?” 

“ Why won’t I ?” 

“ Because— what would grandpa do without you? He 
is getting too old to plow, grandpa is. You did the plow- 
ing last spring, you know.” 

“ Well, that isn’t any reason why I should do it next 
spring, as I know of. What is the matter with your try- 
ing your hand at it? I began when I was only fifteen.” 

Rob looked thoughtful. 

“ I am only fourteen ; but I would be willing to do it if 
I could.” 

The idea of Phil’s going away had never occurred to 
him. Of course sometime, in the future, they would both 
go, but to Rob that time seemed very far ahead. 

“Are you really going, Phil?” he asked earnestly. 

Phil hesitated a moment. Was he? The idea had 
seemed very attractive when Joe Bates had proposed it 
to him, but — did he really want to go, after all ? 

“ It depends on whether I do or not,”, he said mysteri- 
ously. “ There is plenty of time to make up my mind. 
If the potatoes had turned out anything, and grandpa had 
got me that gun he has been promising me for the last 
two years, I wouldn’t have said anything about it, but 
now — I don’t know whether I’ll go or not.” 

The secret uncertainty weighed on Rob’s mind, and he 
went about with an uncomfortable sense of misgiving for 


18 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD'. 


several days; then, as Phil did not mention the matter 
again, it gradually, wore away, and he was his old light- 
hearted self again, getting enjoyment and satisfaction out 
of the simple pleasures about him. 

The fall work dragged discouragingly. Grandpa 
worked steadily along, but he was getting old and clumsy 
and moved stiffly, and he‘ took a considerable more time 
to the accomplishment of a task than he had done a year 
ago. Perhaps the meager returns he had received had 
taken the spring out of his step, or maybe the fact that 
Phil did all his work under the stress of protest had some- 
thing to do with it. Rob worked and whistled cheerily, 
and helped to “ average ” up to the best of his ability — 
an endeavor which grandma w'as not slow to notice. “ A 
streak of sunshine,” she called him to herself. 

The frost had not injured the corn because it was 
already ripe and had been cut early. It was a good crop 
and yielded well. But Grandpa Baker had not planted 
a great deal of corn. There was sufficient for 'their own 
use, but none to sell. He had “ put all his eggs into one 
basket ” this year, grandma said. The potatoes were 
small and undersized, only about half grown, and entirely 
unsalable, a fact which Phil had brought to his notice 
several times before they were put away down cellar, and 
each time he did so it seemed to Rob that grandpa looked 
older and more discouraged. 

After the crops were taken care of, the wood was to be 
cut for winter, which came early this year. Grandpa did 
not like to keep the boys out of school, although Phil did 
not care particularly about going. 

It was all right for kids like Rob, but he was not a 
kid any more. But grandpa did not see it that way. He 
thought there was a great deal that Phil could learn at a 




^ OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA^HOOb. 

district school yet, and managed to get along without his 
help through the week. But Saturday was a busy day for 
all three, a fact which Phil seemed to resent as a personal 
grievance. 

A fellow didn’t want to spend all his life working and 
studying, but perhaps it did not matter as he had no gun 
to go hunting with the other boys. 

One day old Mr. Joslyn drove along by the wood lot 
and called grandpa to the fence, and they talked a long 
time. By and by he drove on, and grandpa came back 
and took up his axe again; but he looked older and more 
discouraged than ever. And then Charlie Davis came 
along and whistled for Phil, who dropped his end of the 
cross-cut saw and went to see what he wanted. 

They talked while Rob and grandpa sawed two cuts off 
a big maple log, and then Phil came back. 

“ Say, grandpa, Charlie wants to sell me his Win- 
chester. He is going away to school and needs the money. 
He gave twenty-five dollars for it two years ago, and he’ll 
sell ii for fifteen. That is pretty cheap for a Winchester 
repeating shotgun,” with a furtive glance at grandpa’s 
tired face. 

Rob started, and his face flushed crimson. So much 
depended on grandpa’s answer, but of course grandpa did 
not know that. How could Phil ask such a thing when 
he knew how impossible it was for grandpa to do it ! 
He looked imploringly at Phil, but Phil was busily en- 
gaged in whittling a stick and did not look up. 


CHAPTER III. 


G randpa did not answer for a minute. He bent 
a little lower over the saw, and his voice was a 
trifle husky when he answered Phil. 

“ That’s pretty reasonable for a Winchester, but I don’t 
see how I can raise fifteen dollars for a gun this winter, 
Philip.” 

“ You promised me one a year ago,” Phil broke out 
irritably. 

“ I didn’t promise for certain. 1 said I’d get one if I 
could, you remember, Philip.” 

Phil did not reply. He turned and went back to the 
fence with an impatient toss of his head. Rob looked 
after him indignantly. 

Phil did not act like himself lately; he could not under- 
stand the change in him. After Charlie Davis went away, 
Phil came back and went to work; but there was a new 
look in his face — a look of stubborn resolve that Rob 
regarded with concern. Phil had made up his mind to 
go — he was almost certain of it; and what could grandpa* 
do with only his help? He looked at Phil furtively from 
time to time, but his face did not lighten, and his mouth 
was set in a firm, determined line that meant his mind 
was made up. 

The day was bright and sunny — a beautiful December 
day, such as comes once in a while to remind us that 
behind the swirling storms of winter the sun is still shin- 
ing, and that dark days always pass away. After dinner 
Rob went out to the barn to think things over. 

21 


22 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


Meanwhile Phil had thrown himself down on the home- 
made lounge behind the kitchen stove, to brood over the 
hardness of his lot, which seemed just now to be peculiarly 
undesirable. There was nothing in it which he could 
recall just at this present time that appealed to him. He 
always' had to work, and he could never have things like 
other boys. Charlie Davis had had a gun of some kind 
ever since he was twelve years old. Most of the boys 
in the neighborhood had bicycles, but he couldn’t have 
one. He might as well ask for the moon as for a bicycle, 
so he never asked. Of course he had his colt, but it was 
only a yearling. It wouldn’t be fit to ride before it was 
three years old, at least, and maybe not then. Grandpa 
was dreadfully particular about using colts too young. 
Joe Bates had had two colts, and had sold one and kept 
the money to spend. Pie was going out West, too, to see 
something of the world. He didn’t mean to stay in this 
poky hole all the days of his life*. A boy couldn’t stand 
everything; besides, he wasn’t a boy any longer, and if 
Joe Bates still wanted him to go, he was going. 

The kitchen was very still for a long time, but presently 
the sound of voices in the bedroom close by obtruded 
themselves upon his reverie. * 

Grandpa had gone in to take a nap after dinner, and 
he must have waked up, for grandma was* talking to him. 

Phil listened in a sort of sullen indifference for some 
time, but presently his own name aroused his attention. 

“ I m afraid we sha’n’t keep Philip with us very long, 
Martha,” grandpa said. 

Phil’s face flushed crimson. Rob had told, after all, 
the little sneak ! 

Why, what do you mean, John? Philip seems as 
well as ever. There ain’t nothing the matter with the 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


23 


boy, is there?” Phil listened intently for grandpa’s reply. 

“ He’s growing up, is all. You know what that means. 
His mother grew up young.” 

“ You don’t mean he wants to go away and leave us, 
do you?” 

“ I mean he feels his wings growing, and is getting 
anxious to try ’em. He is restless and discontented, and 
wants a change. I’ve seen it coming for quite a spell 
back.” 

Grandma did not reply for a minute, and when she did, 
her voice was softer. 

“ It’s only nature, I suppose, John. It’s right, or it 
wouldn’t be so. Has he said anything about going away?” 

“ No; maybe he ain’t got far enough along to acknowl- 
edge it to himself yet, but he will. I wanted to sort of 
prepare your mind, Martha, so it wouldn’t be such a 
shock when it did come.” 

“Ain’t there something we can do, John? Couldn’t we 
take his mind up by something else?” 

“ I don’t know. I s’pose it is a bit dull here for a boy 
like Philip. If things were real thriving with us, it would 
make a difference. He wants a gun, but I don’t see how 
I’m going to get him* one this year — not such a gun as he 
wants. Joslyn was over to see me to-day.” 

Grandma sat up and drew a long breath. 

“What did he say?” 

“ He said the mortgage would have to be paid in April. 
Money was tight, and he couldn’t afford to let it run any 
longer.” 

“Did you tell him about the potatoes?” 

“ Yes. He said that early frost had damaged crops all 
over the country, and that he had lost a good many 
hundred dollars by it.” 


24 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAl^HOOD. 


“ How much is there back on it, John? You’ve paid a 
considerable on it, off and on.” 

“ Yes, but the heft of it was interest. Some years that 
was all we could raise.” 

“ I know. Paying interest is like feeding an old-fash- 
ioned cook stove. It takes an awful lot of wood, and 
don’t throw out much heat, after all. You better figure it 
up and see just how we stand.” 

“ Mebbe I had better. It has run along quite a number 
of years; but long as old Squire Bondage had it, it was 
all right if the interest was paid. You see, after he died, 
Jim got into debt and had to raise some money himself, 
and that’s how old Joslyn got hold of it.” 

“ Yes, Squire Bondage was a man among a thousand. 
I thought when we put it on the farm it would be an easy 
matter to pay it off ; but I didn’t know much about mort- 
gages.” Grandma sighed. “ There wasn’t any other way 
for us to do, John. The debt had to be paid, and that was 
the only way we could pay it. We couldn’t let it stand 
against Ellen’s boy. You ain’t never told Philip it was 
his father’s debt, have you?” 

“ No. Time enough for that when he grows up.” 

Grandpa got up and rummaged among his papers in 
the bureau drawer and sat down to “ figure ” it out. Phil 
was sitting up now, every nerve alert and tingling. His 
father’s debt! His mind was in a tumult of emotion. He 
was “ growing up ” fast now — faster than grandpa imag- 
ined. 

“ It’s only two hundred and fifty, after all, Martha, 
interest and all.” Grandpa’s voice was hopeful. “ Mebbe 
by selling off the cows and. the young cattle — we’d have to 
keep the team, you know,” he said thoughtfully. 

“ Mebbe we can, John. Oh, there’ll be some way pro- 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 25 

vided. We can manage to get another cow somewhere by 
next fall. I’d hate to go without a cow. Things ain’t 
never so bad but what they might be worse,” she added 
hopefully. 

Phil got up and stole noiselessly away upstairs. He 
wanted to be by himself and think. He had done a good 
deal of thinking lately, but he had to begin all over now. 
His cheeks flushed as he remembered his thoughts in the 
light of what he had learned to-day. His father’s debt ! — 
and they had paid it, giving him a home and a father’s 
and a mother’s care. No father could be kinder, more 
indulgent, than grandpa, and no mother could do more 
for her boys than grandma had always done for 
him and Rob. The greatness of the sacrifice they 
had made overcame him. All the little comforts of their 
declining years cheerfully renounced to add, penny by 
penny, to the meager hoard which went to pay — his 
f other* s debt! He must repay them, but how? A man’s 
wages at farm work were only twenty dollars a month, 
and he was only a boy. He realized it now in the need 
for manly strength and decision ; but they would come to 
him in this crisis — they must. There was yet time to do 
something, and he would do it. 

He took to studying the want columns of the daily 
paper, which he borrowed of Squire Waldron; but there 
was nothing for an inexperienced boy that would more 
than pay his way. 

And then, in the first week in January, the “ how ” 
came to him, when he read about the excellent luck fisher- 
men were having fishing through the ice in Saginaw Bay, 
and the good prices fish were bringing. Why, it was just 
the thing. He could fish, and he was strong and hardy; 
he could stand the life all right, too, but it wouldn’t do to 


26 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAVHOOD. 


say anything to grandpa and grandma about it. They 
would be sure to be afraid, and it was not any time for 
fears. He would not need any new clothes, either, a need 
that had hampered his striking out in any other direction. 
Socks and rubbers and Mackinaw shirts were just the 
thing for the ice, but they would hardly do to wear in 
applying for a job in the city. He grew quite cheerful 
under his new prospects. 

The old, sullen restlessness was gone, and in its place 
an alert thoughtfulness characterized his actions, which 
was a great relief to Grandpa and Grandma Baker, and 
also to Rob, who, now that the storm seemed to have 
blown over, felt a sense of relief that blossomed out into 
his old, mirthful pranks. 

. Phil had changed his mind about going away, and was 
acting like himself again, and everything was going to be 
as it had been since he and Phil were little boys together, 
he told himself jubilantly. Indeed, Phil seemed to regard 
him more in the light of a companion than he had done 
in a long time. 

.The month of January was an exceptionally cold month, 
and also an exceptionally stormy one, blizzard after bliz- 
zard sweeping the country and piling the snow into drifts. 
The ice in the Branch grew thicker every day, and every 
day the task of chopping a hole sufficiently large for the 
cattle to drink, a more arduous one. 

And then one day Phil went to the village and did not 
come back to dinner as they expected, nor yet to supper, 
which grandma kept waiting for him in the oven for a 
long time, while she watched anxiously at the little eight- 
paned window. 

Ain’t Philip come yet?” grandpa asked, as he came 
in from the barn stamping the snow from his feet. 



“ WHO IS IT FROM, ROBBIE?” ASKED GRANDPA. 


27 












28 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


“ No; I can’t see what is keeping him so long,” grand- 
ma replied. 

” Maybe I’d better go down and see,” Rob suggested, 
putting on his coat again; but just then Squire Waldron 
stopped his team in front of the house, and came to the 
door. 

” I thought I’d bring your mail, and save you going 
after it,” he said, handing grandpa a letter. 

“Who is it from, Robbie? I ain’t got my glasses,” 
grandpa said, handing it to Rob, who gave a start of sur- 
prise as he recognized Phil’s handwriting. 

“ It’s Phil’s writing, grandpa,” he replied, looking at 
his grandfather shrinkingly. The blow had fallen, after 
all, and Phil had gone without saying a word to any of 
them. 

“Philip’s writing? What in the world — he must be 
hurt, or something is the matter,” grandpa said, adjusting 
his spectacles hastily. 

“ Dear grandpa and grandma,” the letter began. “ I 
am going away to work for a while. I’ve got a good job, 
and I might as well be earning something as not. Don’t 
worry about me, for I’ll be all right. I’ll come home when 
I get some ‘ dough.’ Your loving boy, Philip.” 

They looked at each other wonderingly, and Rob’s face 
grew red. 

“ Did you know anything about this plan of Philip’s, 
Robert?” grandpa asked sternly. 

“ I thought he had given it up, he was so different 
lately, and I promised not to tell,” Rob stammered in dis- 
tressed tones. 

“ A bad promise is better broken than kept, Robert ; 
you ought to know that,” grandpa reproved him. 

“ But I thought he had given it up ; I did, honest. 


( 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 29 

grandpa. He never said anything about it only that once,” 
Rob explained, and then he went on to tell the conver- 
sation they had had the night of the big -frost. 

Grandpa listened intently. “ Why, Joe Bates ain’t gone 
out West. I saw him not two hours ago, taking a load 
of wood into town for his father. Philip ain’t gone with 
him,” he said in relieved tones. 

“ It’s probably just as he said, John. He’s got a chance 
to work somewhere, and thought he ought to take it, being 
things is just as they are. He’ll be coming home in a 
week or so to show us his earnings, probably,” grandma 
prophesied hopefully. 

Grandpa did not reply. He read the letter over again, 
and then folded it and put it away carefully. There was 
a considerable to Philip, after all — more than a body could 
see on the outside. He hoped the boy would come to no 
harm, and it was better, maybe, to let him try his strength 
for awhile. A bird never learned to fly in the nest, and 
a short flight was better than a long one to begin with, 
he reasoned. 


CHAPTER IV. 


T he ice-fishing' village on the bay was larger this 
season than for several seasons before, and Phil, 
who rode out with the teamster who hauled sup- 
plies, scanned the queer little huts and tents scattered 
over the route curiously. The village was not laid out 
after the manner of villages on shore, however, for it was 
rarely that two huts stood near each other, each one stand- 
ing alone by itself, presumably to insure better fishing 
ground. The majority of them was so small that he could 
not see how anyone could live in them, much less carry 
on their work inside of them. But he had yet to learn 
that a great many things are possible that are, not so 
pleasant. He had not brought any tent, thinking that he 
might bunk in with someone already supplied, but he 
began to think that might be a hard thing to do. He 
jumped off the sleigh, presently, beside a ' shanty a trifle _ 
more comfortable looking than any of its kind, and went 
inside. The owner, a weazened little Frenchman, looked 
up and motioned him to silence as he bent over a hole in 
the ice floor and gazed intently into what, to Phil, coming 
in out of the snow-clad ice-fields outside, seemed utter 
darkness. It became lighter to him, presently, and his 
eyes, having accustomed themselves to the new condition 
of things, discerned a large fish swimming about, appar- 
ently but a few feet below the surface. 

“ She’s a beeg, fat wan,” the man whispered, watching 
it intently as it circled round the bait, which he gradually 
drew upward, bringing the fish nearer the surface. Sud- 
denly there was a slight splash as the three-tined spear 

30 




32 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


darted downward, and a second later he drew it out with 
a fine pike impaled on one of the prongs. It flopped about 
vigorously, but a rap on the head with a club quickly put 
a stop to that, and the Frenchman held him up for Phil’s 
inspection. 

“ She vas a beeg wan, hey?” 

“ She’s a beauty,” said Phil, enthusiastically. “ Do you 
get many like that?” 

” Heaps lak dat — see !” He pointed to the hole, where 
another one could be seen circling warily about the bait, 
which still dangled temptingly in the water. Phil was 
growing excited now, and watched intently while this one 
was decoyed within spearing distance, and then added to 
the pile which nearly filled the big basket over behind 
the man. 

” He pretty good day’s vork when I get her clean, hey?” 
he' said. 

“ I should think so ! What will you give me to clean 
them for you?” Phil asked. 

“You vant work, eh?” 

“ Yes, that is what I am looking for,” Phil replied. 

“You coom out to feesh, eh?” 

“ Well, maybe when I learn how and get something to 
fish with. I’d like to take a few lessons of you first, 
though.” 

“ All right. I’ll geeve you von, two, tree lesson ; you 
get feesh efery time, lak me. You clean my feesh. I 
geeve you plaintee eat and good bed for to sleep, eh? 
You do it? Me, I lak leetle companee vonce in vile, 
somebody spik to — yass.” 

“Will you give me all I can spear beside?” Phil said. 

“ Yass, I geeve you dem all,” the man said, chuckling 
to himself. 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 33 

It looked like a pretty good chance — his board and lodg- 
ing for cleaning what fish the Frenchman caught. It was 
not a very agreeable job, but it was pretty good pay. 

“All right, I’ll do it! Where are your tools?’’ 

The man pushed the basket towards the door and indi- 
cated a large knife which lay on top of a box, evidently 
containing table supplies, and which also served as a table. 

Phil drew the basket outside and began his task. It 
was not pleasant work, with the wind whistling about his 
ears, and his hands soon grew stiff, so stiff that he could 
hardly hold the knife; but he persevered, and one after 
another the fish were cleaned and returned to the basket. 
He took them inside and tried to thaw out his hands be- 
side the diminutive oil-stove whose pungent fumes escaped 
through a hole in the roof. There were three more wait- 
ing for him, which he took out and cleaned, and these 
proved to be the last, although they sat and watched the 
hole for nearly an hour. 

“ She bite no more to-night,” the little Frenchman said, 
drawing out the bait and putting it safely away for the 
night. 

Phil looked wistfully at the hole, longing to try his luck 
for awhile, but he did not like to suggest the matter. 
Beside, he was pretty hungry, having made his dinner on 
crackers and cheese and a drink of cold water. 

Supper consisted of fish cooked on a tin plate over the 
oil-stove, with bread minus the butter, and black coffee. 
But it tasted remarkably good to Phil, who ate heartily. 
Outside the wintry wind blew sharply with a clear sweep 
over the vast expanse of ice, shaking the frail shanty as 
it whistled about the corners; but they were quite com- 
fortable beside the oil-stove, which kept a steady heat. 
Finally the little Frenchman, whose name was Pierre, 


34 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO HA'S HOOD. 


dragging a piece of planking over the hole in the ice, 
threw down a pile of blankets and, rolling himself up in 
them, motioned for Phil to do the same, and was soon 
snoring loudly. 

Phil lay awake for a long time, listening to the wind 
and thinking. He was out in the world at last, and the 
little brown farmhouse, that had been home to him for 
so many years, seemed very far away indeed. The pleas- 
ant, cleanly kitchen and the soft, warm bed under the 
eaves, close by the stovepipe, presented a striking con- 
trast to his present quarters. He did not mean to be 
homesick, but something very like it kept him awake for 
hours. Grandma was awake, too, he felt sure, worrying 
and wondering. She could never sleep if anything was 
wrong with Rob or himself. He missed her kind “ Good- 
night,” too, more than he cared to acknowledge even to 
himself. Dear grandma ! 

He wished that he had told her and talked the matter 
over with them both. But it was too late now. 

He would write, he decided, the first thing in the morn- 
ing; and with this salve for his uneasy conscience, he 
drifted into a troubled sleep. 

It was a harder task than he had imagined, however, 
for the excuses he had deemed good and sufficient to war- 
rant a boy in sneaking silently away from home had sort 
of a sneaking look on paper, no matter how much he tried 
to excuse himself, and he tore up sheet after sheet in 
attempting to explain matters, finally deciding to leave 
explanations until he could make them in person. 

Next morning, after an early breakfast, he went out 
to look about him, leaving the Frenchman sitting beside 
the hole in the ice, waiting for a bite. It was a queer 
array of huts which he encountered during his walk. 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


35 


Anything that would afford a shelter had been utilized, 
even to a huge piano box in which the owner had cut a 
hole big enough to crawl through. But there were others 
which were quite comfortable, being large enough to 
accommodate a woman cook and a real cook-stove. Other 
outfits consisted merely of several holes in the ice, each 
one holding a stout hook and line and a tempting morsel 
of bait, the owners tending them through the day and 
taking up the hooks at night. 

In one tent farther down Phil found a supply of fish- 
ing material for sale, and purchased several hooks and 
lines and a can of bait. He could watch these with his 
other duties, and he set about cutting holes in the ice as 
soon as he went back, and, baiting the hooks, he put them 
in. There was plenty of work waiting for him. Pierre 
seemed to be having excellent luck, and Phil could not 
help wondering when his own lessons were to begin. He 
finally decided that they must begin right away, and 
accordingly, when he had the fish cleaned, he went and 
seated himself beside the hole, watching every motion of 
the Frenchman intently. 

Objects were plainly discernible at a depth of twelve 
feet, and far below a fat pike could be distinguished cir- 
cling about, undaunted by the fate of his fellows, which 
had allowed themselves to be unduly attracted by their 
appetite, to their undoing. The Frenchman pointed to 
him. 

“ Here, you can have heem if you catch heem,” he 
whispered, putting the spear into Phil’s hand suddenly. 

Phil took it hesitatingly. He could do no more than 
fail, and probably Pierre had not got the first one he 
struck at. 

The big fellow played about the tempting morsel for a 


36 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA'SHOOD. 


moment, and Phil sat motionless, his arms tense and rigid, 
and then suddenly he drove the spear down with all his 
strength, and nearly followed it into the hole, head first, 
getting to his feet with an empty spear and a sheepish 
expression of countenance which sent the little French- 
man into silent convulsions of laughter. 

“You go for spear whale, eh?” he said. “Here, look 
at dees. You spear feesh dees vay,” he explained, when 
a fresh victim swam into view. He took the spear, and, 
poising it lightly, sent it darting into the depths with an 
accuracy of aim that brought the object of his attention 
struggling to the surface. 

“ You try ’gin,” Pierre said, putting the fish into the 
basket and giving up the spear to Phil. 

There were no fish in sight at present, and Phil waited 
patiently ten, twenty minutes, half an hour, and still he sat 
motionless, his eyes seeking the water, the spear poised 
lightly in his hand as he had seen the Frenchman do, and 
presently his vigilance was rewarded by the sight of a 
large lake trout nosing his way towards the bait which 
Phil drew cautiously towards him. Finally, just as it was 
underneath his hand, he struck and brought the trout to 
the surface, wriggling and squirming. 

“ Preety good feesh you got. You be goot feeshermans 
by and by. Goot greet; not geeve up; just vait and vait 
and bime-by — zeep ! you catch heem so easy. Just vait, 
that ees all.” 

Phil was greatly elated. He saw untold riches within 
his grasp, and went outside to clean it at once. Then he 
took it, together with a couple of smaller fish which he 
found on his hooks, to the supply store and exchanged 
them for a spear. On his way back he spied a big dry- 
goods box which someone had been using for a shelter, 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


37 


but which had evidently been cast away for something 
better. It would do him for the present, he decided, 
especially as he was going to bunk with the Frenchman 
in return for cleaning his fish. He dragged it back near 
the shanty, and, going for an axe, cut a hole in the ice, 
over which he placed it, and, crawling in, baited his line 
and waited. It was cold work crouching on the ice, but 
he persevered, and had the good luck to fetch out a pike 
as large as any the Frenchman had taken, which he took 
to the shanty and exhibited proudly. 

“ I show you how to be beeg feesherman — ver beeg, lak 
Grover Cleveland, mebbe,” he chuckled, proud that- this 
first lesson had been so easily learned. 

Phil felt very important now. He was fully established 
in business, and on the third day had a basketful for the 
supply team when it hauled the daily catch back to the 
city. The prices paid were not overly large, but they 
seemed large to Phil, who hoarded every penny. His 
business arrangement with the Frenchman kept him ex- 
ceedingly busy, but it reduced his living expenses to almost 
nothing and enabled him to save a much larger sum than 
would have been possible otherwise. 

One day Rob came home from the village with a letter. 

“ Hurrah ! Another letter from Phil ! Here, tear it 
open, grandma, and read it, quick !” he said, handing it to 
grandma, who put on her glasses and read it aloud. 

“ Dear Grandpa, Grandma and Rob : I’ll put you all 
in, so no one will feel slighted and because I can’t write 
many letters up here. I am getting along finely; working 
every day. Am as tough as a pine knot and getting fat, 
so you don’t need to worry any, grandma. I am getting 
good pay and saving my money, which is the main thing. 
If you hear a brand-new red buzz-wagon come chugging 


38 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAH HOOD. 


down the road sometime about the first of April, why, that 
will probably be me. Don’t forget to watch for it. With 
lots of love to everybody, including old Rove, I am, 

“ Your boy, 

“ Phil.” 

“ I’m glad he is doing so well. It will be the making 
of him all right if nothing happens to him. There is 
nothing that makes a man of a boy so quick as letting him 
strike out for himself, if he’s the right kind of a boy,” 
grandpa observed. 

“ Yes, that was just what Philip needed. I wish he’d 
written down his address so we could write to him, though, 
and tell him how glad we are that he is doing so well. I 
can’t find it anywhere,” grandma said disappointedly, 
looking the letter over again. 

‘‘Ain’t there one there somewhere, grandma? I wanted 
to write him a good, long letter myself,” Rob said. 

But beyond the postmark, Bay City, Mich., there was 
nothing to give a clue to Philip’s whereabouts. 

“ Up in some lumber camp likely, where the mail don’t 
come,” grandpa explained. 


CHAPTER V. 


^ I HRESOME beesness set here all day double up 
I like von bootjack. I get seeck of eet,” the 
Frenchman said one morning, as Phil set the 
half of a pike, nicely browned, on the dry-goods box that 
served as a table, and turned the black coffee into the tin 
cups. 

“ Feesh, feesh, feesh ! Nothing- but feesh. I not want 
smell anudder feesh in five year,” grumbled Pierre, drag- 
ging his box up beside the smoking breakfast. 

“It is getting rather monotonous, that’s a fact; but I 
can get away with my share yet,” Phil said, breaking off 
a thick white, flaky piece and putting it into his mouth. 

“ You not leeve on feesh all winter lak me. I tank I 
grow feens if I eat heem mooch longer, me. I geeve all 
I catch dees week for von nice piece good ham — ham an’ 
aig, eh? What you tank?” 

“ Or a good big slab of beefsteak,” put in Phil. 

“ Leever an’ onions — pea soup, eh?” 

“ Or a chicken pot-pie, such as grandma makes, or a 
tin of cream biscuit and yellow butter, with white clover 
honey in the comb,” suggested Phil. 

“ Eh, dat some lak eat for sure. Mek me hungry,” the 
Frenchman said, getting up from the table, and kicking 
the box back against the wall, and taking his coat down 
off the nail he put it on. 

“ Why, where are you going?” Phil asked, as he 
watched the man pull .his wool cap slowly down over his 

39 


40 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


ears, and tie a red wool scarf about his neck. 

“ Going to get something to eat,” he said, laconically. 

“ But they haven’t a thing but salt pork over at the 
shanty,” Phil told him. 

“ I not go to no shantee. I going out into white man’s 
country. I go to eat— all— everytang you say, me,” he 
said, spreading out his hands suggestively. 

Phil laughed. “ When are you coming back ?” he asked 
him. 

“ Ven I get full — so.” He illustrated his idea of satiety 
to Phil’s amusement. 

“ You stay — catch all de feesh in de lake. You can 
have dem all; efery von. I not vant any more feesh,” he 
said, with a gesture of disgust, proceeding to tie on his 
snow packs securely with a couple of stout strings. 

“ All right, ril catch all I can,” Phil assured him, as 
he went out and struck off toward Bay City, ten miles 
away. 

“ He will be ready for his breakfast, all right, by the 
time he gets there. Pd hate to take such a hike as that 
on an empty stomach,” he said to himself, a habit he had 
contracted since taking up the life of a fisherman. 

The day seemed unusually long, after Pierre was gone, 
although he had pretty good luck, but the idea that there 
was no one in hailing distance made him feel doubly alone. 

True, the old Frenchman was not a great deal of com- 
pany, but the vast solitude of frozen water about him 
seemed so great, so silent, that even the company of a 
dog would be a relief. A dog! Why had he not thought 
of it before? A dog would be lots of company, and there 
were plenty of fish ; he need never go hungry. Of course 
he did not know how the Frenchman would like it, but 
if he objected to letting him share the shanty, he would 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


41 


make a bed for him outside in the box. When the supply 
team started back for Bay City that night, with its load 
of fish, he hailed the driver. 

“ Say, Mr. Keats, can’t you bring me a dog to-morrow 
when you come back? Some poor fellow that wants a 
home. I’ll take good care of him.” 

Jim Keats stopped his horses. “ Sure. So you are 
alone now, are you?” 

“ Yes, for awhile.” 

“ I met Frenchie hiking for town this morning as fast 
as he could go. Said he was going out to get something 
to eat. You’ll probably be alone for a couple of weeks, 
all right.” 

“ You don’t suppose he will be gone as long as that, do 
you ?” 

” I think it is likely. He went out once before just 
before you came, and was gone two weeks. You see he 
is thirsty as well as hungry, and it will take some time 
to fill him up, probably.” 

“ Pretty poor way to spend a man’s life, I should think; 
earning money just to throw it away again,” Phil ob- 
served. 

“ Yes, but that is the way half the men and boys out 
here spend theirs. Fish in the winter, and dock-wallup in 
the summer, with a spree as soon as they get a little 
ahead.” 

“ I don’t mean to spend mine that way,” Phil said 
earnestly. 

“ Good thing, too, if you stick to it. Well, I must be on 
the move. I’ll pick up a dog and fetch him back with 
me to-morrow. I think I know where to find just such 
a one as you want,” Jim said, starting his horses on. 

It was a weird night. The wind blew in long wailing 


42 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA^UIOOD. 


gusts that shook the shanty and made this night, alone, on 
the frozen waters, one to be remembered. 


“Hello! How does this strike you?” Mr. Keats had 
stopped his team before the door, and beside him on the 
seat was a big Scotch collie, wagging his great plume of 
a tail, as Jim Keats stroked his head. Phil regarded him 
admiringly. 

“ He is a beauty, all right. Why, he is the perfect 
image of old Rove at home I How did you happen to 
find him?” 

“ Oh, he has been hanging around the barn for several 
days; lost his master, I guess. Some farmer, probably. 
You can see he ain’t a city dog. He’s a little lanky, but 
I guess you can fill him up.” 

Phil whistled, but the dog hesitated. He had no mind 
to desert his present friend at a whistle. A dog without 
a master was a very uncomfortable dog, he had found. 

“ Go on, sir,” Jim said, as Phil came up and began talk- 
ing to him. “ Go on, he is going to be your master now.” 
The dog seemed to understand, and, wagging his tail ap- 
provingly, jumped out and followed Phil into the shanty, 
gravely sitting down beside the little stove as much as to 
say, “ Well, this is a real comfort at last.” His mild, 
intelligent eye followed Phil about the shanty inquiringly, 
and when he set a plate of fish before him, he gobbled it 
up hungrily. 

“ Poor chap, you are pretty near starved, ain’t you? If 
you don’t get sick of fish like Pierre, we’ll put some meat 
on those ribs of yours.” 

Phil called his new companion Dandy, and really he 
seemed to be more company for him than the old French- 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


43 


man had been. He followed Phil about everywhere, sit- 
ting beside the hole, watching for a prospective victim, 
and wagging his tail joyfully when he caught sight of one. 
Indeed, his eyes were sharper than Phil’s, and Phil could 
always tell as soon as a fish was in sight by the alert 
motion of Dandy’s ears and tail, and he was never mis- 
taken. 

The time passed rapidly now. Phil’s earnings were 
much larger now that he could fish inside the shanty, as 
well as outside, for he kept bait in both holes, and when 
the fish seemed slow to bite in one, he went to the other. 
Of course his expenses were somewhat greater, because 
he had his own supplies to buy, as well as oil for the stove, 
which he kept constantly burning, as the Frenchman had 
done. His earnings were steadily growing larger, and 
although he could not hope to earn enough to pay off the 
mortgage, still they would make a respectable bit of help — 
enough, he hoped, to obviate the necessity of selling the 
cows. Grandma would hate terribly to have to part with 
old Cherry and her daughter, Daisy. He had kept his 
money in a couple of tobacco bags, but tffey were becom- 
ing overcrowded, although he had changed his silver for 
bills as fast as he got it. He took it all out and counted 
it now. There were fifty dollars. It was the first money 
he had ever earned, and he regarded it proudly. No other 
money he would ever earn would be quite the same to him 
as this, and it would not do to risk losing it. So he sewed 
up a stout belt of canvas, and putting the money in, 
buckled it securely about his waist. 

The weather had been unusually mild for several days, 
so much so that Phil had felt some concern lest the ice 
should break up and put a premature stop to his plans, but 
to-night the wind blew raw and cold from the east, and a 


44 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


fine snow was beginning to fall, which increased presently 
to a blizzard. He rolled up in his blankets early beside 
Dandy, and kept warm and snug however, the howling 
blast outside only making a pleasant accompaniment to 
his dreams. 

When he awoke in the morning the snow was piled in 
a huge drift outside the door, and he had to shovel his 
way out. It was still falling, but the wind was now blow- 
ing from the west. He would not try fishing outside to- 
day, he decided. About ten o’clock he discovered that the 
oil was getting low, and, taking the jug, started for the 
supply store, with Dandy trotting close at his heels. Jim 
Keats had just come with his usual load of necessary sup- 
plies and hailed him good-naturedly. 

“Keep your dog yet, I see. How do you like him?” 

“ Fine! I couldn’t get along without him now,” Phil 
replied, with an appreciative pat of Dandy’s head. 

“How is Frenchie after his spree? Pretty cross this 
morning, ain’t he?” 

“ He hasn’t got back yet, so I can’t tell,” Phil replied. 

“ Ain’t back? Why, I met him about two miles out last 
night, when I was going back. I asked him if he had 
got filled up yet, and he said, ‘ Yaas,’ and I guess he had, 
for he walked very crooked. It’s queer he ain’t back.” 

“ Maybe he stopped with someone along the road.” 

“ Maybe, but in that case he would probably have rode 
in with me this morning.” 

“ That’s so,” Phil replied, looking away over the snow 
field reflectively. “ I’d hate to see the old fellow come to 
any harm,” he added. 

“ Oh, he’ll take care of himself, likely,” Jim said, care- 
lessly. 

Phil could not get it off his mind, however, and scanned 


«( 



BETTER TAKE MY HAICD-SLED AND BLANKET. IF YOU FIND 
THE MAN, H’LL be PAST WALKING,” SAID THE FISHERMAN. 

45 




46 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA^^HOOD. 


the ice-fields anxiously as he went back, but the snow 
was still falling, and he could see nothing but the shadowy 
huts outlined against the whiteness. 

He decided to go to the shanties and see if he was 
there, at any rate, so he set out with Dandy, stopping at 
every one as he went along; but he was not in any of 
them, and no one had seen him. 

Phil came out of the last shanty and looked anxiously 
over the dreary waste. He could not go back without 
doing his best to find out what had become of the old man, 
who in his rude way had been kind to him, and after bor- 
rowing a shovel, he started out resolutely in the face of 
the storm to search for him. 

“ Better take my hand-sled and blanket. If you find 
the old man he’ll be past walking, likely,” the fisherman 
told him. 


CHAPTER VI. 


P HIL hurried on as fast as he could, stopping to 
examine every hillock and queer-looking drift along 
the route, a feat which Dandy soon grew to perform 
as deftly as his master, and he plowed his way through 
each one, with commendable zeal.’ The wind seemed to 
be blowing harder all the time, and blew the snow up 
into blinding sheets which made traveling exceedingly 
dangerous, and several times Phil found himself out of 
his course. He made slow progress, handicapped by the 
sled and shovel, but he would not turn back, and about 
noon he found the old man, who had crawled under the 
shelter of a deserted shack, which the wind had over- 
turned and over which the snow lay piled. He was alive, 
but in a heavy stupor — which could be partially accounted 
for by the empty whisky bottle he held tightly clinched in 
his hand — and from which Phil tried vainly for some 
time to arouse him, although he rubbed' and pulled him 
about vigorously. Finally, however, his efforts were re- 
warded with partial success, and he wrapped the blanket 
about him, and, putting him on the sled, started back, 
after making a loop in the rope, through which he thrust 
a piece of board torn from the old shack, and which made 
it easier for him to draw the heavy load; Dandy trotted 
at his side encouragingly, and presently a thought occurred 
to Phil, which he proceeded to put into execution. 

“ Here, you might just as well help a little, old chap,” 
he said, putting one end of the stick into Dandy’s mouth, 
and encouraging him to “ come on.” Dandy understood 

47 


48 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA'NHOOD. 


and tugged at his end bravely, which proved to be a great 
help. 

Whoever they stopped to rest he rubbed and shook the 
old man about, and succeeded in restoring him to a sense 
of his surroundings by the time they reached the shanty, 
where he made him as comfortable as possible. His feet 
were found to be frozen badly, although he had escaped 
with no other serious consequences. Phil tended him as 
well as he could, and applied the remedies the old man 
suggested faithfully, but there was so little he could do 
to help him that he tried to persuade him to go back to 
the city, where he could be more comfortable and be 
cared for better than he could possibly be here, but he 
refused. 

“Vat for I go Bay Ceety, me? No home, no monee, 
no feets, no nottings. I stay here and feesh. You goot 
feeshermans; ver goot. You feesh me out ze snowbank 
when I nefare get out again, you and ze dog — Old Pierre 
nefare forget zat. He goot dog, ver goot. Vere you get 
heem ?” 

Phil told the old man how he came by Dandy, and the 
Frenchman took to him at once, and Dandy accepted his 
advances graciously. 

“ You ver goot feesherman. You feesh, feesh all ze 
time; care nottings about ze monee — just feesh. Catch 
sometimes efery time — mebbe feesh, mebbe man.” 

“ Oh, yes, I do, Pierre. It is money I’m after,” Phil 
explained. 

“ You not buy nodding — no tobac, no veesky — eh ?” 

“No; I think too much of my money to spend it for 
such silly things as that.” 

Pierre nodded understandingly. 

“ That so. Ver seelly. Long earn, soon spend. You 



50 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAl^HOOD. 


buy someting better, eh?” 

“ Yes, I mean to. I want to earn a home for grandpa 
and grandma this winter,” Phil said, earnestly. 

” Yaas. You buy beeg ting — ver beeg for boy lak you.” 

“Yes, I know it is a big thing to try for; but I mean 
to keep on trying just the same. You see, it is this way,” 
he said, explaining the matter as well as he could to the 
old Frenchman, who listened intently, evincing his inter^ 
est by nodding his head vigorously. 

“ Goot, ver goot ! Ve both feesh for ze mortgage. I 
be pretty goot feesherman, too. I be von more pair hands 
to feesh with, an’ you be von pair feets for me, an’ ve be 
-goot team, eh? Ven ze ice she brek up you tek me to ze 
farm an’ ve feesh for ze mortgage, an’ catch heem, too, 
mebbe,” he said, banteringly. 

“Oh, I couldn’t take your money, Pierre. You will 
need every cent you can earn to take care of yourself. 
You won’t be able to get around much this summer.” 

“ Yaas; I tank I not valk mooch. Zen I go to ze farm; 
set on ze grass — sleep, vile you catch ze mortgage — see?” 

Phil saw what the old man was driving at, at last. He 
wanted to put in what he could earn to help pay on the 
mortgage and. go to the farm with him and stay, until he 
should be well and strong again. It was not such a bad 
plan, after all. He could fish all right and might be able 
to earn quite a considerable yet, and grandpa and grand- 
ma would be glad to have him come and stay all summer 
if he wanted to, and grandma knew of a great many things 
that were good to heal up frosted feet. 

“ All right, Pierre. You can help me out, and I will 
take you home to the farm to stay as long as you want to. 
I know we can both of us give that old mortgage quite a 
jar. How long do you suppose the ice will last?” 


OVER THE fHkEStiOLt) TO MANtiOOt). 


51 


“ Oh, some tarn longer, some tarn shorter. Been goot 
feeshin’ long tarn now. Brek up pretty soon, mebbe; 
mebbe stay goot feeshin’ till robeen he come back, and ze 
buds go for get green. Ice ver theeck now — tak beeg 
vind, beeg rain, mebbe. Goot feeshermans lak you not 
be scare till she hurt, eh?” 

“ No, I don’t scare worth a cent any more,” Phil re- 
plied laughingly. “ I hope it will stay a month yet. We 
could do a good deal in a month ; you and I.” 

“ Yaas, dat so. Get more hooks and set more lines to- 
day. Tend a dozen yost as veil as seex, ain’t it?” 

“ All right. We’ll rush the thing for all it is worth,” 
Phil said, hopefully. 

Pierre took command of the fishing now, and it was 
really wonderful to see how successful he was, and the 
day’s catch for them both was nearly double what it had 
been, and their united earnings made a very satisfactory 
showing. 

And then one morning the wind began blowing from 
the south, and kept steadily in that quarter for several 
days, and the snow field melted away before its magic 
breath like fog before the sun. Old Pierre looked wise, 
but he fished away serenely, unheeding the more timorous, 
who packed up their movables and started shoreward. 
Phil watched the trend of affairs, but he did not get 
anxious. Old Pierre had fished all his life. He ought to 
know when it was time to pull out. The ice looked to be 
as safe as it had at any time during the winter, but of 
course it would break up sometime, under the heavy 
waters that beat and throbbed beneath it. Indeed, the 
wind that blew off the land to-day was as soft and mild 
as a June breeze, and it almost seemed that he could smell 
green things growing, as he baited his hook and dropped 


52 OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAVHOOD. 

it into the hole; and just then Old Pierre hobbled out of 
the shanty and held up his hand and let the soft breeze 
trickle through his fingers. 

“ Get out ze beeg sled,” he said, peremptorily. 

Phil started. 

“ Why, what — ” he began, but Pierre cut him short. 

“ Better work — talk bime-by,” he said, laconically. 

Phil wound up his lines hurriedly, then he got out the 
big sled Old Pierre had drawn his belongings on, and 
loaded on the fishing implements, while Pierre tied up 
the blankets into compact shape. Phil picked up the stove, 
but Pierre shook his head. 

“Tak de feesh — feesh bring monee, nobody gif von 
cent for dat;” and Phil decided he was right, and putting 
the day’s catch into a sack loaded it onto the sled. 

“ Dere coom Ole Beel,” Pierre said, pointing to a griz- 
zled fisherman, tugging a loaded sled, and followed by a 
woman and two boys. 

“Hi, Beel! You go for deeg out, eh?” 

“ Yes, you’d better get a hustle on, Frenchie, or you’ll 
find yourself fishin’ in Botany Bay,” Bill said, tramping 
steadily along. He had no time to talk. They could not 
take anything not absolutely necessary, because Old Pierre 
would have to ride. 

They made slow progress on account of the heavy load, 
and were soon distanced by the rest. Phil felt pretty 
nervous, but he forged ahead as rapidly as possible. Omi- 
nous sharp reports were now heard at intervals, which 
added to his uneasiness and his speed also, and mile after 
mile was hurriedly traversed. Suddenly Old Pierre called 
to him to stop. 

“ Ve not go zat vay any longer; see, Beel — he coming 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 53 

back.” He pointed to a group of dark figures coming 
rapidly toward them. 

“ Strike north. The ice is flooded out this way,” Bill 
called out, and Phil turned in the direction indicated. 

Others had turned about and were coming back also, 
and the whole company pushed on as fast as possible, mile 
after mile, with the ice heaving and straining under their 
feet, some of the unincumbered ones helping Phil with 
his heavy burden. 

“ Beel ” gave up his sled to the boys now, and took the 
lead as advance guard, armed with his fishing spear, with 
which he constantly felt his way over the rotten ice in 
search of fissures which might be yawning ahead of them. 

“ Open water ahead, boys !” he shouted. The ice had 
just begun tearing loose, and was already a couple of 
hundred feet from shore. 

“ We’ll have to depend on our lungs, lads,” he said, 
carrying his hands to his lips and giving a long drawn 
“ Whoo-ee !” that echoed eerily over the water from the 
distant hills, a cry which was repeated again and again 
by various members of the party, and which was heard 
presently, a couple of boats coming to the rescue. 

They had been tramping steadily through the ice slush 
since ten o’clock, and now the lights were gleaming along 
the shore. They embarked as speedily as possible, every 
moment of delay on the treacherous ice which heaved and 
strained under their feet with every swelling wave being 
fraught with danger. 

The boats were heavily loaded, and Dandy stood look- 
ing wistfully on, waiting for an invitation to enter. 

“ Come on, old boy,” called Phil, holding out his hand. 
But Jake Burrows interposed. 

“ There ain’t no room in here for a dog. We’ll do well 


54 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


if we get to shore ourselves, with all ’ our stuff,” he 
growled. 

” Nevaire mind ze stoof, ze dog goes,” declared Old 
Pierre, stoutly. 

“ Better pitch your own stuff overboard if you are so 
anxious,” Jake snapped, laying hold of Pierre’s pile of 
luggage threatingly. 

” Stow that, Jake ! There is room enough for the dog, 
poor tyke,” Bill said; but Jake was unconvinced. 

” She’s down to the water’s edge now ; he’d swamp us 
all,” he cried, with a vicious tug. A sudden lurch threw 
him off his balance, and he pitched forward into the water 
like a shot. Dandy followed him promptly, and when he 
came up, puffing and blowing, magnanimously towed him 
to the boat, a bit of generosity, which he rewarded by lift- 
ing the dog in after climbing in himself. 

“ Served ye right for a sneak, Jake. The dog is the 
best man of the two,” Bill said, as they pulled for shore. 


CHAPTER VIL 


I T WAS the day before Easter, which came in April this 
year, and it was warm and sunny. The winter had 
been long and steady, and now that it had let go it did 
not seem inclined to renew its hold again. Buds *were 
swelling and tiny green things springing up here and 
there as if unable to stay hidden any longer. The winter 
had been hard on Grandpa Baker, and the spring found 
him languid and feeble. It did not seem as though he 
could begin the spring work with no one to help him but 
Rob, although Rob was willing and ready to do all he 
could. There was another reason, too. He had only been 
able to raise one hundred dollars toward the mortgage. 
He had sold off all the young stock, except Phil’s colt, 
and everything he could spare about the place, except 
the team and the two cows, and he had decided it was 
not best to sell these, for he would need them to help him 
earn a living. He had tried to borrow the money to take 
up the old mortgage and give a new one on the farm, but 
money was scarce, and he could find no one who would 
lend it to him. He had been looking for Phil to come 
home for a couple of weeks ; but he had not come. 

“ The sleighing must be all gone up in the woods by 
this time, and I can’t see what is keeping Philip,” he said, 
as he came in from the barn with a basket of fresh eggs 
and set them on the table. 

“ It does seem as if he ought to be coming home pretty 
soon, doesn’t it? He has stayed away pretty well for the 
first time. Why, where did you find them, pa? I was 

55 


56 OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MA:NH00D. 

afraid I’d sold myself short of eggs for Easter,” grandma 
said. 

“ Rob found a couple of new nests. The hens has took 
to stealing their nests lately.” 

“ Probably that is it. I’m glad you found them, though, 
for somebody might happen in to-morrow, and I’d hate 
to be short.” 

“ You don’t want to send to the village for anything 
to-night, do you?” grandpa asked. 

“ No, not as I know of. Why, was you calculating to 
go down?” 

“ I thought I would go down to see Lawyer Graham 
again. He said that he might be able to find somebody 
that had the money to spare.” 

“ Yes, I know. I s’pose you had better go. You’ve 
always done the best you could, John, and that is all any- 
body can do. If you can’t get it of him, we won’t struggle 
any longer,” she told him. 

After grandpa had gone she sat down beside the lamp 
with a basket of stockings to mend. Grandma Baker’s 
hands were seldom idle, and while they drew the yarn in 
and out, her quavering old voice sang tremulous strains 
of the old familiar song, which Phil, listening outside, had 
heard so often in his dreams of home during the days and 
nights of his exile: 

“ The Lord will provide.” 

She did not hear the steps that had come up the path 
between the beds of grass pinks, nor detect the shadowy 
figures waiting beside the door, until presently one of 
them stepped upon the porch and rapped at the door. 

“ Come in !” she called, hospitably, thinking sure it was 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAVHOOD. 


51 


one of the neighbors running in on an errand, until the 
door opened and a voice spoke. 

“ An’ wud ye take a couple o’ travelers over night, me 
good woman, if it ain’t too much trouble?” 

She arose and came to the door. 

“ Why, yes, I guess we can. It ain’t never too much 
trouble to entertain strangers,” she said, peering into the 
shadows to see her questioner, who, to her surprise and 
astonishment, put both arms around her and gave her a 
hearty smack. 

” What ! Why, it’s Phil !” she cried, hugging and kiss- 
ing him excitedly. 

“ Yes, it’s Phil, grandma. Didn’t you know his voice 
the minute he spoke? I did. He couldn’t fool me!” cried 
Rob, jubilantly, rushing into the room, followed by Dandy. 

” And this is Pierre, grandma — a very good friend of 
mine. He has got a bad pair of frozen feet, and I told 
him you knew just what to do for them, so he wanted to 
come and see if you couldn’t cure him up.” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if I could. I cured up your grand- 
pa’s, when his’n was so bad he couldn’t step on ’em for six 
weeks. The lumber woods is a terrible bad place for 
freezin’ your feet and hands. Your grandpa used to 
always go every winter till he got too old to stand it.” 

Phil winked knowingly at Pierre, whose face wrinkled 
into a tangle of answering smiles. He wasn’t ready to 
tell grandma the real story of his winter’s work just yet. 

“ Come and take this chair by the fire, sir. The air is 
proper chilly to-night, for all it is the tenth of April,” she 
said cordially, drawing grandpa’s big rocking-chair up 
to the fire, and bustling about to get them some supper. 
To be called “ sir,” and then to sit in a real rocking-chair 
by a real fire, with a woman, a good woman, frying 


58 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


home-smoked ham and eggs for his supper, was something 
Pierre did not remember to have enjoyed for a long time. 

Phil watched his grandmother with a tender light in 
his eyes. Dear grandma ! He had not realized before 
how much he had missed her. 

“ Grandpa has gone to the village,” Rob said. 

“Yes, he had a little business with Lawyer Graham to- 
night,” she told them. 

Someone came to the door and rapped peremptorily 
while they were enjoying the supper Grandma Baker had 
cooked, and she went to open it. It was old Joel Joslyn. 

“ Is Mr. Baker at home?” he asked. 

Grandma shook her head. “ No, he has gone to the 
village; but he’ll be home directly. Won’t you set down 
and wait?” 

Joel Joslyn hesitated and coughed consciously. 

“ No; I only stopped to see if he would have the money 
ready for me Monday. If not, I’d like to have him make 
preparations to move as soon as possible, because I have 
a man all ready to come on and begin the spring work. It 
is getting late, you know,” he added, with an attempt at 
justification. 

Grandma’s face paled perceptibly. 

“ Mr. Baker hasn’t got all the money yet. He has got 
a hundred dollars of it, and he has gone down to-night to 
see about getting more. He’ll be over to see you about 
it early Monday morning,” she told him. 

“ All right. Of course if he gets it I will take it on the 
debt; but I thought it was better to have the matter under- 
stood. I won’t wait for him to-night,” he said, turning 
to go. 

“ Please wait a moment, Mr. Joslyn,” Phil said, rising 
to his feet and facing the stern-looking old man. His 



60 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


tones were clear and commanding, with the proud con- 
sciousness of an ability to defeat the man’s thinly-veiled 
desire of possession. 

“ Have you the mortgage with you ?” he asked. 

“ Yes, I put it in my pocket, thinking it might save 
your grandfather a trip over to my place. Why ?” He 
resented Phil’s cool, crisp tones, and looked him over 
coldly. 

“Will you kindly let me see it?” Phil asked. 

“What is it you want to know?” he asked, 

“ I want to know the exact sum due you from my 
grandfather,” Phil replied. 

“ He owes me just two hundred and fifty dollars, inter- 
est and principal, and he’s owed it a long time. I can’t 
let it run any longer.” 

“ We haven’t asked you to let it run any longer, have 
we? Indeed, I think we have lived with that mortgage 
about as long as we can stand it, and the sooner it is put 
out of commission the better.” 

He unbuttoned the belt from about his waist, and count- 
ing out one hundred and fifty dollars in bills from its 
contents, handed them to Grandma Baker, who went red 
and white by turns, and who looked bewildered by this 
turn of affairs. 

“ Now, grandma, if you will get the hundred dollars 
grandpa has put away, we’ll pay this — this gentleman up, 
and take this troublesome piece of paper off his hands,” 
Phil said, turning to her. 

“ Zat ze stoof, Pheel ! You feesh for ze mortgage, you 
catch heem. You be ver goot feeshermans !” Pierre 
chuckled, watching them delightedly, and Rob gave an 
involuntary “ Hurrah !” while grandma went for the 
money. When she returned she counted it out into Mr. 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MANHOOD. 


6i 


Joslyn’s hand, and received in return the paper which for 
so long had rendered their lives miserable, with the re- 
ceipt in full written across its face. Mr. Joslyn hardly 
knew how to take this sudden turn in affairs, it was so 
different from anything he had counted on. 

“ ril see that the record is canceled at once,” he said, 
turning toward the door. 

“ Don’t cry, grandma. It’s all over now. I’ll pay the 
rest of the debt some day, and in the meantime let’s just 
be happy,” Phil told her tenderly. 

She raised her head and looked at him earnestly. He 
knew about his father’s debt, then ; but the knowledge 
had not crushed him. It had guided him over the thresh- 
old of discontented boyhood to a brave young manhood, 
strong to protect its own. 

“ They ain’t tears of sorrow, Philip boy; they are tears 
of joy,” she said, solemnly. 

“ We’ll make this our Easter gift to grandpa, sha’n’t 
we, grandma?” Phil asked presently, turning the yellow 
paper over reflectively. 

“ Just as you say, Philip. If he doesn’t know about 
Mr. Joslyn’s being here, we might wait till morning. It 
would make a fitting Easter offering — joy out of sorrow, 
and the stone of a heavy burden rolled away. Yes, yes, 
Philip boy, it would make a beautiful Easter gift, and 
he’s waited so long, a few more hours won’t make much 
difference.” 

It was late when grandpa came home; but Phil was 
waiting up for him and met him at the door. 

“Well, well, Philip, is that you? Why, how the boy 
has grown, Martha! He ain’t a boy any longer, is he? 
He’s growing into a young giant,” he said, patting Phil’s 
broad shoulders proudly. 


62 OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAHHOOD, 

“ I’m just as glad to be home again, though, grandpa, 
as if I was but four feet high,” Phil assured him heartily. 


Easter morning dawned bright and beautiful, and the 
golden sunlight shone with a soft radiance over grandma’s 
pot of snowy Easter lilies, which she had set in the center 
of the breakfast table, and rested lovingly on grandpa’s 
white hair, as he bent reverently to offer thanks. 

They were all watching when he turned his plate over, 
and his start of surprise, as he recognized the yellowed, 
time-worn paper beneath it, was the signal for an out- 
burst of delight from the boys, who had restrained their 
joy as long as possible. 

“ It is perfectly harmless now, grandpa. It won’t hurt 
you. Its claws have been cut,” Phil said. 

Grandpa picked it up and unfolded it with a dazed 
expression. Every word was familiar; he could have 
repeated them with his eyes shut. There on the back 
were the endorsements of sums he had paid from time to 
time, when the paper had been the property of old Squire 
Bondage— pitifully small, some of them. It was a small 
piece of paper to have cost so many days of toil and so 
many sleepless nights, and he could not realize that it 
was harmless now. 

A few penciled words in grandma’s trembling hand- 
writing caught his eye, and he held the paper at arm’s 
length and peered at them curiously. 

Philip’s Easter Gift. 

“ It may not be my way. 

It may not be thy way. 

But yet in his own way 

The Eord will provide.” 


OVER THE THRE.^HOLD TO MANHOOD. 6S 

He read them aloud reverently. 

“ You were right, Martha. ‘ In his own way.’ What 
a deal of sorrow we’d save ourselves if we’d only remem- 
ber that.” 

“ You’ll have to thank Pierre here for making it pos- 
sible, though, grandpa. I couldn’t have done it alone. 
If he hadn’t frozen his feet so he couldn’t get about, he 
would not have thought of putting in his share of the 
money, and then of coming to stay this summer to get 
cured,” Phil explained. They all looked at Pierre, who 
squirmed about uncomfortably under . the imputation of 
praise. 

“ An’ eef ze boy hadn’t been ver goot feesherman an’ 
feesh ze old man out of ze snowbank — ” he began. 

“ Oh, stow that, Pierre ! The eggs are getting cold, 
and we’ve got five apiece. I’ve counted them,” broke in 
Phil noisily. 

It was a memorable Easter. To grandpa and grandma 
it was the calm after the storm; the harbor of rest after 
the stress of tossing billows. 

To old Pierre it was the happiest day he had known in 
years, and to Phil and Rob it was altogether too short for 
all the wonderful things that had happened during the 
winter to be recounted, which gained new zest from an 
account which grandpa found in his weekly paper, and 
which he read aloud : 

“ The perilous journey of a party of fishermen over the 
flooded fields of rotten ice in Saginaw Bay was brought 
to a safe conclusion by the aid of two boatmen, who came 
to their rescue across two hundred yards of open water, 
which, to their dismay, confronted them on their attempt 
to make a landing. Twenty miles were traversed in their 
hurried flight, dragging their belongings on sleds, and also 


64 


OVER THE THRESHOLD TO MAVHOOD. 


a crippled comrade who had frozen his feet and was un- 
able to walk.” 

“ You didn’t know any of ’em, I s’pose?” grandpa said, 
looking over his glasses at Phil, who laughed. 

“ I knew a few of them.” 

“Were you one of them?” Rob asked suspiciously, as 
he noted the twinkle in Phil’s eye. 

“I guess I was, all right; wasn’t I, Dandy?” 

“ An’ here eez ze creeple,” Pierre put in, pointing to 
his frozen feet. 

“Did Phil really .pull you all that twenty miles?” Rob 
asked, curiously. 

“ Pheel not let hees tug go slack, you bet me,” Pierre 
said proudly. 

“ Pooh ! Old Maje never does that, either,” remarked 
Phil, laconically. 


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